


Six Degrees of Separation

by Anonymous



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Past Relationships, Slow Burn, There's plot, all aboard the bad fic express, and everyones okay with that, i don't know how to tag, kinda a crackfic ish, mentions of hendollana, oh and it's gay, side Trent/Robbo, the boys are in Austria and getting over their breakups
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27785179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Dejan's gone and Mo is picking up the pieces. Pre season in Austria may just be his chance for a fresh start. That's until he meets Kostas Tsimikas and is taken on a new rollercoaster of unwanted emotions, denial and frustration.
Relationships: (past) Mohamed Salah/Dejan Lovern, Jordan Henderson/Adam Lallana, Kostas Tsimikas/Mohamed Salah
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23
Collections: anonymous





	1. One

He stirred his coffee more than necessary, the spoon swirling a monotonous pattern through black liquid, with dark eyes gazing intensively. The chip of metal upon china, the spoon hitting edges of the mug, never graced his ears having been drowned out by the clouds of contemplation and reminiscence that rested heavily in his mind.

“Why the long face?” Jordan suddenly asked, sliding into the seat opposite him. His voice held a softness, his typical captaincy and fondness which he wore with pride. “You’re not missing Lovern already are you?”

Mo finally looked up.

“You are missing Lovern,” Jordan realised with a sigh.

The dismal thoughts leaked through into the features of his face and Mo couldn’t hide them. As much as he wanted to. As much as he wanted to move on and suppress any image of the Croatian man. He just couldn’t.

He just hated that when he now looked up in the cafeteria the seat opposite was filled with a different body. A different face. And the jokes would be different, the accents, the stories and affection and understanding between himself and the other. It was never the same.

It used to be just himself and Dejan. Plus two cups of coffee. That’s all he needed really. But now there’s just one. 

He tried to force a smile. Happiness didn’t feel right on his features anymore.

“Maybe just a little.”

“Yeah, I know that feeling,” Jordan hummed. His voice held a slight hollowness. Mo could hear it. It’s funny how much you try to forget, and try to disguise the things that haunt you, but in the end they always linger. It’s all a facade, a veil even, and the face underneath was hiding the hurt.

“Lallana?”

A nod. Well, more of a shrug. Jordan seemed to have found himself in a moment of weakness, as if he didn’t want to admit this to Mo. To himself, even. Mo new that feeling quite well.

Jordan had bought over a tray of food, a plate of sausages and potatoes, and started to squash his fork into potatoes despite their already mashed complexion, his eyes glued in concentration.

“I’m trying to arrange to see him. I don’t know when or where. I don’t know if I’ll even be able to, I’m not sure if I’ll have the time, having a full schedule.”

Mo’s heart ached with a tinge of jealously. He couldn’t help it, but he knew it’s always easier to see someone when they are at least in the same country.

“November?” Mo suggested.

Jordan managed to huff a laugh. “I guess. There’s always the matches at least.”

It seemed so far away. The sad smile on Jordan’s face meant he knew that too. Most likely counting down the seconds until he saw the brunet again. Until he could take the brunet into his arms, breathe in that familiar scent, and be completely lost in that moment. Mo knew that feeling too. He missed that feeling like hell.

When was he ever going to see Dejan again though? When was he to see him in the flesh and blood, with skin to be felt, and not just pictured through the barrier of a screen.

“You’ll make it. Adam would do anything to see you.”

“I’m sure Dejan would too!”

Before Mo could say anything, two more people hastily sat at the table. Andy with a tray of sausage of mash, a can of Irn Bru, followed by Trent with some kind of red soup and bread. They were bickering loudly between themselves, it was a mystery how Mo didn’t hear them before they had arrived, about some trivial subject.

“So,” Andy started, sitting down. He turned to Mo and Jordan, “settle this argument, once and for all. Tomato is a vegetable, right? So tomato soup is technically a vegetable soup!”

“So?” Jordan raised an eyebrow, bearing a mixed expression of amusement and boredom. “Care to elaborate?”

“So tomato can’t be a fruit then.”

Trent let out an exasperated moan, “Tomato is a fruit. Only because you can make a soup of it doesn’t automatically make it a vegetable!”

“It has to be a veg. No one, when asked to describe a soup, has ever said it’s a fruity soup. People don’t make soups out of fruit otherwise it’s just a fruit salad.”

“Hendo,” Trent whined. “Help me out with this idiot please!”

“I can’t. Robbo’s mind works in mysterious ways that no other person could possibly understand.”

Mo looked between the three men as they argued and then continued to stir his coffee. He felt satisfied with the distraction, despite however bizarre or random the conversation turned out to be, it was the small things like this that made everything feel normal. Made him feel like a part of his life hasn’t fallen away.

He tried not to get too lost in his thoughts again, otherwise the pang of absence will flood his chest and a pit his heart would deepen.

“I will stand on this table and ask this whole cafeteria in a minute,” Andy threatened. “You’ve been warned, wee man!”

“You wouldn’t! We all know you wouldn’t!”

“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t”

Andy moved. He was stopped just as quickly as the hairs of his arm left the surface of the table,with Jordan grabbing his shoulder and pushing him back down into his seat.

“Climb on this table and I’m confiscating the Irn Bru!”

He pouted, “fine!”

Simultaneously, Trent wore a smile alike to one of a favourite child who had gotten their own way, while the other child had been grounded for eternity.

“Or you could get Milner over here?” Trent suggested, waggling his eyebrows at Andy with the threat. “He know’s his fruit from his veg.”

“This isn’t over!” Andy sulked, stabbing at the sausages on his plate. “Speaking of which where is Milly?”

Trent looked around.

“No idea!” He replied. Picking up his spoon, Trent gestured across the room at someone else who had caught his eye. “Your new left back buddy looks a little lost though.”

They all followed the line of direction from the silver cutlery, even Mo who wasn’t paying too much attention before, to look at Kostas Tsimikas, carrying a plate of food uncertainty. He was looking for a familiar face in a crowd of unfamiliarity, his eyes flicking around. Almost like an image of Bambi on ice.

Jordan tried, captain’s instincts taking over, and called, “Kostas!”

He beckoned the nervous Greek man over before he could embarrass himself. Kostas walkedquickly, without a second thought, and Andy and Trent shuffled over to allow the new comer to sit at the table.

“How you liking the soup?” Andy asked, swiftly, as he noticed the bowl Kostas was carrying.

“Um…I haven’t tried it yet.”

The Scotsman rested his chin upon his hands, a Cheshire Cat smile plucking at his mouth.

“Well, I haven’t either, but I’m sure it will taste like vegetable. Now, what’s your opinion of tomatoes, Kostas? Would you say they are a fruit?”

Confusion soaked into the features of Kostas’ face who only blinked in response. Mo smiled into his coffee at the look of bewilderment. Trent sighed with an exaggerated eye roll and Hendo looked as if he was contemplating making a phone call to Milner.

“Your lack of subtlety perplexes me,” Trent commented.

“Well, I’m not going to beat around the bush with this one. People deserve the truth about this imposter trying to pass itself as fruit when it’s clearly a piece of veg.”

Kostas wore an expression of regret. Not that anyone could blame him with Andy’s unrestrained, chaotic antics.

“What’s happening?”

Mo shook his head, “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Andy’s being an idiot is what’s happening,” Trent clarified.

“You’ll get use to this,” Jordan explained.

“Or not,” Trent added. “You’ll never know. This football team can be unpredictable at the best of times.”

“Or a plane of shambles at other times,” Andy finished.

Kostas smiled weakly, he softly joked, “this fills me with confidence.”

Mo chucked, looking to Kostas, his stirring slowing, gazing at the features of his face. The edges and dimples of his visage, the tired bags under his chocolate eyes, the messy mop of dark hair, the lopsided smile that pulled shyly at his lips. He looked at all the small blemishes and details, becoming entranced by his physical form and timid demeanour.

It’s not like he hasn’t looked at Kostas before, during their joinery over when they first met, making their way to Austria, was when they first crossed paths. When Mo first laid eyes on him. But now it seemed different. The rhythm of his hand against the coffee, spoon stroking absentmindedly, as his eyes lingered.

“Earth to Mo Salah… Mo Salah running down the wing!”

Kostas caught his eye. Mo snapped out of his daydream suddenly realising that all eyes are on him.

“Huh? Yeah… sorry?” He looked to Andy who had spoke, trying to ignore the embarrassment seeping into his cheeks.

“You going to drink that coffee, mate? You’ve been stirring it for at least ten minutes!”

“Oh yeah.”

He dropped the spoon on the table and took a gulp to confirm his answer. The bitterness reached his tongue. The lingerings of past memories reached his mind. Coffee dates with Dejan, happy smiles, laughter, and that unique, warm feeling that pooled within his stomach.

It was a shame his coffee was cold now.

—

Night came quickly. Inky black rolled over the picturesque mountains of Austria, darkening the skies above until the light diminished. Mo threw himself back onto the bed of his hotel room, bathing in the artificial, yellow tinge of the lighting. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and flicked through his messages.

Dejan [14:55]: SENT A PHOTO

Mo clicked on the notification.

A picture of Dejan appeared, bare chested, flexing and exaggerating the appearance of his abs, underlined with the caption; “Working out. Are mine as good as yours yet?”

Mo laughed, the sound radiating throughout his body.

Mo [18:38]: No ❤️

Dejan [18:39]: 😑

Mo [18:39]: Nowhere near as good

Dejan [18:40]: Now you’re just being mean bro …

Dejan [18:40]: How’s Austria??

Mo [18:40]: Fine. Very sunny, good food, good vibes

Mo [18:41]: I guess it would be better if you were here ;)

Dejan [18:41]: of course

Dejan {18:41]: as the love of your life it’s my responsibility to make you feel better

Mo [18:42]: how kind

Mo [18:42]: What would I ever do without u ?? :(

He closed his eyes, thinking of Dejan’s face. The feeling of absence flooding him again, drowning his heart, making him ache inside all over again.

Mo [18:43]: I miss you

Dejan [18:43]: i know

Dejan [18:43]: i miss you too

Dejan {18:43}: i guess ;)

Mo smiled softly, holding his phone to his chest, as he looked at the ceiling. At this moment the door closed and he realised someone else had entered the room. He closed his phone and sat up slightly from the bed.

“How was the table tennis competition?”

Kostas was now his new roommate. This wasn’t a surprise. Mo knew he was going to have to share with whoever was going to fill the void left by Dejan. Although, Mo left like it was putting a plaster over a wound. It would do, but he knew when he woke up the room would still feel slightly empty again.

“It was okay,” Kostas shrugged, collapsing onto his own bed. “I lost. I was told you played table tennis though?”

“Not anymore,” Mo mumbled.

How could he when Dejan didn’t jokingly ridicule his playing, pushing his buttons, and exposing his competitive side.

“How come?” Kostas asked, frowning slightly.

Mo didn’t think he would reply. He didn’t think that Kostas heard him, but maybe his own thoughts were just a little too loud.

He conjured an excuse, “I meant, not tonight, maybe not this trip. I’m just a bit tired.”

“Makes sense,” Kostas turned to look up at the ceiling. “I’ll try not to disturb you if you need more sleep.”

“No. It’s okay,” Mo reassured. “Make as much noise as you want.”

Dejan probably would. He would wake Mo up in the mornings, stroking his hair, before leaving to make coffee and bring it to Mo.

It was nice of Kostas to think of him. Kostas thought of everyone, Mo considered, putting them before himself. But he didn’t want Kostas walking on eggshells just for his sake.

Kostas smiled, trying to stifle a yawn. “I think I’m going to get some sleep now myself.”

Mo nodded, “yeah me too.”

He looked over at Kostas as he was beginning the pull duvets around himself.

“Aren’t you going to get changed?”

He mumbled, “I’ll do it in the morning.”

Mo laughed, taking in the sight of Kostas lazily cocooning himself within the bedding, clearly exhausted and couldn’t spare the energy to get dressed out of his tracksuit.

“Good night.”

Kostas slurred, “g’night.”

Mo sat for a while, completely still and entranced, thoughts whipping over in wave after wave in his mind. However, the sight of Kostas, in a slumber of serenity, calmed that internal sea, the waves taming. Mo smiled, softly, feeling just as relaxed himself.

Before going to bed, he picked up his phone and took a picture.

Mo [18:58]: SENT A PHOTO

A photo of Kostas sleeping and the underlying caption; “never mind. You’ve been replaced ;)”

Dejan [19:00]: How do you block a phone number? Asking for a friend

He stayed awake for awhile afterwards. Eyes on the ceiling. Even with the lights turned off, his vision adapted to the darkness, the inky black night spilling in and painting the room, and he kept staring upwards as if the stars would be above him.

Yet there was nothing and he drifted off to sleep with that final thought.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, Welcome back... 
> 
> Firstly, thank you to everyone who read my last chapter and left Kudos, and a special thank you to catmanu and Liverbird for leaving comments- I really appreciate it. 
> 
> Secondly, I'm SO sorry for how long it took me to write this next chapter and for the wait. I hope it's worth it as I went through at least three rewrites. I checked for errors, but if there is any please let me know so I can correct them. 
> 
> Anyway, if you're still here and reading this, here's the next chapter. I hope you all enjoy. :)

The sun stroked his face. With warm rays caressing his beard and skin, Mo finally blinked away the sleep in his eyes and embraced the new day. The ceiling above looked bright and he took a breath.

No smell of coffee, or of shampoo, or sex, just fresh sheets and the Austrian air.

He felt slightly refreshed yet despite that felt strangely empty. No waves drawing in and out in his mind, no heavy chest or pit in his heart. Just nothing. Maybe the new day had blessed him with a new perspective. Mo wasn’t exactly sure.

At that moment, Kostas exited the bathroom. Mo almost did a double take, forgetting about his roommate, then realising he was bare chested, towel wrapped around his wait, with damp hair plastered to his wet face.

Kostas almost looked as shocked himself.

“Sorry, I was getting my clothes…I didn’t realise you were awake.”

Mo seemed to forget how to form a sentence in English, let alone a syllable, as his mind grappled for words, completely lost again. What was wrong with him? He had seen his teammates before, their bodies, their bare flesh in the changing rooms, and he has never been affected by it. His mind had gone blank, all logic evaporating, and Mo suddenly wondered if this fresh start was too much. He was acting like a school boy again.

Kostas didn’t seem shy about his body, despite the way he scrambled for his suitcase, although his actions were probably more out of concern of making a right impression than being self conscious. His skin was sun kissed and golden, coloured by the Mediterranean weather, with muscles well toned. Above his abdomen, on his right side, tattooed in black and greys, was the hand of God depicted in The Creation Of Adam reaching for a faint scar in the middle of his stomach.

Mo blinked twice. His brain finally had some control.

“No, no, it’s okay, I don’t care…” He took a breath, looking at the ceiling again. He refocused on Kostas. “You’re up early?”

He tried not to inspect Kostas’s tattoos too much. He tried not to think about the way small drops of water remained on his skin. He tried not to look at the chiselled complexion of his features.

“I’m always an early riser, probably because I sleep early,” Kostas smiled sheepishly, pushing the hair out of his eyes.

Mo nodded. A few beats of silence passed.

“You’re a late sleeper,” Kostas added. “I can tell. You slept like the dead this morning.”

“I am.” Mo smiled in return, scrubbing a tried hand over his face. “I also go to bed late.”

God, he needed a cup of coffee badly.

“I’ll see you in the cafeteria!” He decided quickly, springing to his feet and heading for the door.

He tried to avoid looking at the younger man on his way out.

“Aren’t you going to get changed?”

Mo stopped, realising that he was still in bed clothes.

It was going to take more than a cup of coffee to fix how much of a mess he was.

—

Mo made sure not to stir his coffee to much this time. He didn’t need to draw anymore attention to himself. Instead, he pulled out his phone and dropped a message to Dejan, as he waited at the table for his coffee to cool.

Mo [7:45]: Morning, love. Hope you haven’t blocked my number yet. 😁

He sighed. Looking up, he gazed around the cafeteria at his teammates. All their happy faces, their joy and relaxed expressions as they chatted and laughed, despite how early it was. He looked at Virgil sat with Joe and Gini, then to Andy stood near the breakfast buffet with a casual arm slung around Trent’s shoulder, then to the kids, Elliot, Curtis and Nico as they joked and talked loudly, finally glancing between the Brazilian boys and their joyous faces. The day always seemed brighter with someone else.

Mo [7:46]: This is your daily reminder that I miss you.

No response. Maybe he was sleeping in. Mo turned off his phone and went back to his coffee.

Jordan suddenly slid into the seat opposite him.

“Mornin’,” he mumbled. He had a mug of coffee himself and a bowl of cereal. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah, wasn’t too bad,” Mo smiled.

To be honest, Mo had slept really well, at least with Kostas trying to keep the noise down and blend into his surroundings.

Jordan nodded in response. He emptied a sachet of sugar into the mug.

Next came Trent and Andy again who threw themselves into their seats energetically.

“Morning!” They announced in unison, an unusual yet natural slur of Scottish and Scouse. However, their greeting was probably too loud for Jordan’s liking, who instantly recoiled at the sudden intrusion of sound.

“Too early for you, skip?" Trent commented.

“Yeah, you look tired mate,” Andy added. He picked a knife and began to butter his toast hastily.

“Didn’t sleep too well.”

“Why?” Andy pouted, playfully. “Was it because someone with first name ‘Adam’, last name ‘Lallana’ wasn’t there?”

Jordan scoffed, “You can talk. You whine every five minutes if Trent isn’t around.”

“That’s because he’s lost without me. Aren’t you, Trentski?”

“I can speak for myself!” Trent exclaimed, taking a slice of Andy’s toast before his hand could be batted away.

As per usual, they squabbled among themselves, with Trent giving quick, curt replies and Andy squawking at him like an offended seagull, Jordan rolling his eyes into his skull, and Mo looking for a quick escape. His eyes landed suddenly on Kostas. The Greek man had entered the cafeteria, giving him a sheepish smile and a wave, before joining the breakfast line. Mo was glad, for his own sake, to see him with some clothes on.

Andy and his wide shit-eating grin noticed as well.

“What do you think of your new roommate?” he inquired. Mo was about to answer before Andy added, “he’s your type.”

Mo blinked.

“My type?”

“Tall, dark haired Mediterranean boys .”

“You literally just described Dejan,” Trent cut in. “Also everyone is taller than Mo.”

Mo smiled. Although it wasn’t Trent’s sarcastic comment that drew the happiness to his lips, but rather his mind’s referral to an old habit of Dejan’s to send death glares to those who dared to insult Mo. He knew Dejan would do the same right now.

“Well, he’s your new left back partner. Shouldn’t you be telling us?” Mo diverted, before his mind went into hyperdrive thinking about Kostas again.

The Scotsman shrugged.

“Sure, he’s okay. I barely know him. Bit quiet. Loves the sun, I can tell you that- just another person to put my pasty ass to shame really.”

“Everyone has more colour than you,” Trent stated.

“I’ll show you colour!”

Trent laughed at the ludicrous threat.

“What does that even mean?”

Jordan pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Children, eat your toast! I have a headache!”

It’s a known rule that whatever the captain says is final, even at the breakfast table. Trent and Andy ate the rest of their toast quietly while they kicked each other under the table.

At least, Mo’s coffee was lukewarm this time.

—

All the players bundled outside into the warm Austrian air. Mo hanged back a bit, adjusting his training gear until it fitted snuggly, and watched as the other players ran on ahead. Everyone casually fitted into their usual groups, gravitating towards each other without second thoughts. Differently, Mo could see Jordan taking a slower pace like himself. He was ahead a few steps but clearly weighing up his options for a partner during warm ups.

It felt like a reflection. Almost like Mo was somehow staring over a mirror, and in return saw his own lost soul in the form of someone else. He was going to reach out when a hand lightly touched his shoulder.

“So…hey…I was just wondering…”

Mo seemed to be making a habit of forgetting, or maybe he just wasn’t used to Kostas’ meek ways, but the young left back had slipped his mind again.

“…could I partner with you?”

Quickly glancing over his shoulder, Mo could see Jordan had found a partnership with Virg, after Gini had paired with Joe.

“Sure. I was looking for someone actually.”

Kostas smiled.

Mo tried a smile back but it felt unnatural on his lips. After this morning, he felt unusual around Kostas in a sense he couldn’t quite place. Nervous, possibly. Discombobulated. His heart would quicken slightly and the tongue in his mouth became a weight. He just wished that he hadn’t seen him half naked that morning.

That was probably it. Although, he wasn’t sure why.

“Can we start with warmups- kick the ball around between pairs,” the distinct, German voice of Klopp called from the other side of the training pitch. He made a motion, prompting the few who hadn’t started with the activity, including Mo and his repertoire of racing contemplations.

Mo shook his head and softly kicked the around football between his feet.

He passed it Kostas. He reciprocated the motion. The ball was returned.

Mo did the same. Then Kostas.

The ball went back clumsily. Mo lunged a little for it.

“Ah, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Mo kept his eyes on the ball. He guided it back.

Remarkably, he also misjudged and sent the pass a bit askew.

He sighed, heavily. “My bad.”

“It’s okay,” Kostas reassured. He collected the ball and juggled it around between his feet.

Mo wanted to keep his own head down. Just immerse himself within the drill with no distractions, just himself and the ball and his mind. At least, that’s what he told himself. A voice nagged somewhere within like a small itch. He wanted to ignore it. He wanted to push it away but it always resurfaced. It told him he was lying and that he knew that if he looked up, even for a second, everything would come crashing down, and the harsh reality would hit him. The reality that the man before him was not Dejan but somebody else.

He took a breath.

Sharply inhaling, Mo tired to remind himself of his surroundings. Everything was different. He was some place different and that was the truth. He couldn’t hide from the truth because it would always find him in the end.

He took another breath.

Ever so slightly he looked around. First to his teammates scattered around the pitch, their smiling faces and the sun that caressed their skin. He tried to focus on their laughter and voices, recognising each, their accents, and who they belonged to. That was something familiar. Sometime that his beating heart warmed to.

Then he drew his gaze to the scenery, the idyllic mountains among a blue backdrop of flawless sky, and the way the grass looked slightly greener here. That was something new. Something different.

He took another breath and let himself feel the atmosphere. Let himself embrace it. Before turning to the man before him.

Kostas Tsimikas. He was not Dejan nor could he pretend that he was. His gaze flickered to him briefly. He took a breath. He forced himself to try again. This time his eyes lingered. This time he couldn’t help but observe the other, wanting to capture the image before him, and immortalise it within the paints on the canvas of his mind. The way the sun caught his hair and softly stroked the chocolate, brown strands. The way he concentrated, the slight way he poked his tongue through his lips, the the way he anxiously curved his feet around the ball, motions trying to become more fluid and relaxed. All the small details that threatened to overwhelm Mo’s senses once again.

Kostas passed it back.

He almost missed the ball having only suddenly snapped out of his trance in time. Mo fumbled, drawing himself out of his mental note-making.

“Sorry- it’s bit of a bad habit.”

“Wait… what is?”

Mo looked up, confused by Kostas’s sudden announcement. He wondered if he had stopped listening at some point as well.

“When I stick my tongue out in concentration. It’s probably off-putting,” Kostas clarified.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Mo panicked. His feet stopped moving. He felt his heart quickened. Had Kostas caught him fixated on his features again? These were some bad habits he was picking up and becoming aware of them only made it worse. Cringing at it himself, he wanted to turn off his mind. “It’s okay… I think it’s… unique.”

Kostas smiled.

Mo passed the ball back, reaching his target.

“I feel like I’m going to learn a lot from you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mo quipped.

Kostas passed it back to Mo.

“Yeah. What is it they call you? The Egyptian God?”

Mo laughed and kicked the ball back.

“Egyptian King.”

Kostas knocked the ball between his feet.

“Do you have any nicknames were you come from?” Mo asked, after a few moments. He could still hear the beat of blood, the march of his heart, echoing within his ears.

“Nah,” Kostas guided the ball back. “I’m just Kostas Tsimikas. Or Konstantions to my family.”

“I’m sure we can find you a nickname, or at least, the fans will probably make something up,” Mo offered. He stopped the ball, smoothly. He chipped it lightly and juggled it on his foot. “They often do come up with some song. The fans are pretty great like that.”

Mo pushed the ball back towards Kostas again, who collected it and slowly rolled it under his foot, yet his face wasn’t focused in his usual manner of concentration as he often did. Rather he looked deep in unsettling thoughts which reflected in the features of his visage.

The beat of blood felt like it was roaring in his ears. Now paired with new waves of concern which washed over Mo, adding to the recipe for disaster within his mind, the inner turmoil of emotion in his chest was starting to grow. He was suddenly exhausted by this break, by Austria, by his head.

“You okay?” He attempted.

“Yeah…I…” Kostas stuttered, trying to pick his words. His eyes remained fixated on his feet, as the ball moved in slow patterns. “…I…um, this might sound stupid, but I… just want to do well.”

“What do you mean?”

“At this club… I feel… a little…out of place?” He took a breath. The ball stopped. “This club is big and the reputation and the standard and the expectations are big and I just want to meet them… I want to do well and… not let anyone down- the fans, the boss, the players…”

“I get that…” Mo reassured. He wanted Kostas to look at him, to see the sincerity in his face, and offer him that comfort which he possibly desired. Nonetheless, the continued slowly, “it’ll take time, but you will… I know you will. It will take hard work and determination but you have the skill and the talent, everyone knows you do, Klopp knows that otherwise he wouldn’t have picked you. Trust me, if your heart is in the right place, you won’t let anyone down.”

Kostas finally diverted his eyes, looking up and meeting Mo’s, his chocolate, brown orbs swimming with worry and fear, underlined with dark, tired lines. Mo suddenly wondered if Kostas struggled to sleep, if the anxiety circled around in his mind, in the same way his thoughts lingered on Dejan and persisted to haunt, keeping him wide-eyed and lost in the night.

“You know…” Mo tried, hesitantly. “I may be the Egyptian King to some, but I’m just Mohamed Salah to others… I’m only human and we all make mistakes. You can’t control everything, you can… you can only try your best.”

Kostas smiled, gingerly. He passed the ball back. Mo stopped the it, eyes still locked with Kostas’. A few hundred thoughts raced around Mo’s head again, his heart still pumping, and he considered if it was appropriate to try and hug the other in that moment. He decided against it.

After a couple of moments, it was Kostas who broke the silence.

“Earlier when I said I was going to learn a lot from you- well, I might have been right.” His eyes held an appreciation, an offer of undying loyalty and Mo accepted it through the fondness in his own, joined by the slowed beat of his heart as a tranquil feeling returned to his body.

Mo passed the ball back to Kostas and he ducked his head away.

All Mo did was chuckle softly, observing the other without guilt, as Kostas withdrew into his unique state of concentration. Once again he found himself wanting to admire all the fine details, the small characteristics, and muse over his personality and subtle mannerisms, everything that neatly went hand in hand to create the person before him. The things that made him linger in Mo’s mind like the moon on the blank pages of the night sky.

Mo collected another pass. 

They continued to bounce the ball between themselves for sometime after that. Mo took a breath as they fell into a slow and steady rhythm. The beat of his heart synchronised and smile that slowly pulled at the corners of his lips was starting to feel more easy. Time moved slowly and for once Mo felt like he was holding onto a moment that wouldn’t slip through his fingers at any second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Hopefully that wasn't too sad? Cheesy? Idk. :/

**Author's Note:**

> so, I've never written a fanfic for this pairing before. This fic was something more just for fun, and something I wanted to write and have enjoyed doing so. However, I'm aware it may be lazy at times and not perfect. So please excuse any errors, I haven't put much effort into research for this as I would for other fics- so that's also why I posted under anon. 
> 
> I love Kostas and Mo's new friendship, I have no idea how many people will actually read this, but sorry to all the Mojan shippers :( he's in the past now....


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